


After Hours

by PaulKeatingOfficial



Category: Smallville
Genre: Banter, F/M, Fingering, Foreplay, Fuck Canon, Glove porn, Oral Sex, Seduction, also yeah i know her age and internship doesn't line up with canon, and the timeline is fucked, but for the purpose of this fic, but you're reading a lionel luthor fic so what did you expect, chloe is eighteen, condescension kink, dickish behaviour, i mean she is in high school so its super sketchy anyway, if the writers can have veritas i can have this, tagged underage in case people are sensitive to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 22:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10500915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaulKeatingOfficial/pseuds/PaulKeatingOfficial
Summary: But, as she looked at him and a shiver ran down her spine, she knew that that was part of the attraction, and not a small part either. No good man would give in to a high school student’s clumsy attempts at seduction, and Lionel Luthor was no good man.





	

Chloe hated Lionel Luthor. She hated his snide expressions and his condescending laugh. She hated his insidious habit of inserting himself into her and her friends lives. She hated how, in their dealings, he always seemed to be at least ten steps ahead of her. Sometimes she wasn’t even sure they were playing the same game. She hated Lionel’s freaky obsession with Clark; she had no idea what he even wanted from him anyway. Most of all she hated how easily he had coerced her into investigating her best friend, and how she’d agreed, all for the promise of a shiny new job at the Daily Planet.  
  
Hating Lionel had become so much of a rock to cling to in recent years that it was basically their gang’s shared hobby. At this point she ought to be getting special credit for it, considering how much of her free time was dedicated to Luthor loathing. However, the very fact that she had spent such a long and steadfast time hating Lionel Luthor was what had made recent experiences all the more confusing.  
  
She was helping him because the man had blackmailed her with her father’s job. He was currently holding their very livelihood over her head and yet sometimes, sometimes she found that she wasn’t even working for him because of that. Sometimes she was investigating Clark for herself and, even worse, sometimes she was doing it to _help_ Lionel.  
  
Like her, Lionel needed to investigate, to get to the bottom of every mystery, to know. That was the crux of her problem. Against all odds she had found a kindred spirit in the very man who might destroy all their lives. That, in itself, made her worry about what sort of person she was turning into, and what's more, her hatred of Lionel was slowly being eroded every time she recognised the fire of discovery in his eyes, and felt the brunt of his potent need to be in control. Those few times she’d managed to genuinely surprise Lionel had fuelled her need for vindication way beyond anything she’d felt in four years at the Torch.  
  
When she’d shown him the pictures she took of the weird symbols burnt into the Kent’s front field, his eyebrows had furrowed slightly and the corner of his mouth had almost imperceptibly twitched. He’d glanced up from the photo and looked her in the eye, wordlessly commending her effort. That small moment of appreciation had started an embarrassing swell of pride in her chest. She’d tried to quell it as she’d left his office but found herself foiled when he’d added a small, “Good work, Miss Sullivan”. That had undone her. She'd looked back but he was at his desk again, seemingly absorbed in his paperwork, and clearly not going to say another word. She’d walked out the LuthorCorp doors with the most shameful smile she’d ever experienced plastered on her face.  
  
All that had been very confusing, but at least it was explicable. If she were called to account for her feelings, she thought she could make a pretty compelling case for herself. Something about being starved for intellectual recognition would be her go to she thought, even if the man recognising her was Evil with a capital E.  
  
Yet there was another, even less palatable, reason her hatred had been knocked down a peg or two recently. She would never, ever tell anyone that Lionel Luthor made her feel vindicated, but this other thing was something she could barely tell herself. She still didn’t want to admit it, but there had to come a point where she could no longer deny it existed.  
  
When she met with Lionel. In his office, or right here at the Torch, something beyond intellectual kinship passed between them. She could still, when she closed her eyes, feel every spot on her body that he had accidentally brushed her, which he was wont to do as he stood too close over her shoulder, pointing out some noteworthy detail on her screen. Her heartbeat sped up now, just like it did when he towered over her, voice low and dangerous, and threats dripping from his lips as easily as if he were commenting on the weather.  
  
Her fingers reached under her skirt, dancing around the warm skin of her inner thighs. She caught herself before she went any further and put her hand firmly back on the keyboard. The article she was writing would be finished eventually, even if she could barely concentrate on any of the words on screen. Her skin still tingled where she touched it.  
  
It was an unfortunate reality she had spent a long time trying to deny. She’d had to consciously avoid thinking about it when the Luthors were brought up in conversation; which, in Smallville, was far too often. Chloe had, against her will, found herself waiting for those moments Lionel would intrude on her day. And, when those moments hadn’t come often enough, she had taken to manufacturing them herself. Like tonight, for instance. What was she doing here?  
  
She’d been stubbornly assuring herself that she was staying late at the Torch to work on her new column. Perfectly plausible, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d worked here well into the night. However, this reasoning didn’t account for the fact that she had a more than capable computer at home. Nor did it explain why she had brought her seldom used make-up bag with her and carefully applied it before sitting down to work. It also, most certainly, did not explain why she had taken the time out of her busy schedule to visit the Luthor mansion that morning.  
Lionel hadn’t been there. She’d been sure he wouldn’t be. She wasn’t looking for a meeting, not then. It had been a set up, a test, a way to manipulate the manipulator. She’d dawdled to the front door, in full view of the multitude of windows. She’d also stopped to say hello to Sam, the gardener, before knocking on the huge double doors. Inside the mansion she’d “accidentally” wandered the wrong way to Lex’s office, despite the many times she’d been that way before. That had given the security guards plenty of opportunities to sight her and report her presence to Lionel. She didn't know which of them he was employing to spy on Lex but this way she was sure the message would get through.  
  
She hadn’t had anything particular to say to Lex; she’d offered to take some of the Talon’s time-sheets to him for Lana. They’d spent some time discussing the Talon’s upcoming open mic night and he had then asked her about Clark. Their meeting took less than ten minutes in all, nothing suspicious, but she was sure the paranoid patriarch wouldn’t see it that way.  
She’d been very confident in herself for the rest of the day. Up until about an hour ago. She’d been sitting in this dark office for, she didn’t know how long, two hours maybe. At the beginning she’d looked up at the doorway every few minutes, expecting him to be there. Then, as time went on and she became less sure of herself and her manipulating abilities, she still looked up at the door, but now with both expectation and dread. What if he did show up? What was she planning? Did she even know? She definitely did, but she wasn’t going to say it, not even in her own mind.  
  
For the last hour she’d been convinced he wasn’t going to show. She’d even convinced herself that she wasn’t waiting for him. She was simply working on her column. A bead of sweat formed on her lip though the night was chilly, she brushed it aside and turned her attention back to her article. It was a short form piece about the cluster of meteor rock found at the base of Smallville’s dam. She’d wanted to include the wolf-man sightings she’d gathered as supplementary to the piece, but her editor shot her down. It seemed half the things she really wanted to write about were ‘not compatible with the _respectability_ of the Daily Planet’. It did bug her but she could handle it. She would write the respectable pieces now and, when she got her foot in the door, that was when she’d start to publish the wall of weird.  
  
Her eyes unfocused again and the words on the screen looked like nothing more than a fuzzy black mess. She glanced at the time at the top of her browser. 10:15. Her stomach tightened. She chewed at the corner of her lip as she futilely tried to reread her last sentence and keep an ear out for footsteps at the same time. What if he didn’t turn up? What if every time she’d thought she felt his gaze on her, or heard a gravelly tinge enter his voice, she’d been misreading it? What if he did turn up and laugh at her? That, to be honest, was the most likely end to this scenario and, truthfully, what was probably best for her.  
  
She was just deliberating turning off her computer for the night and packing up when she felt a change in the air. It was probably her imagination but she thought the room got colder as well.  
  
“A little late for a high school project isn’t it, Miss Sullivan?” A shiver ran down her spine as he said ‘Miss Sullivan’.  
  
His tone was casual, as casual as he could ever manage to be, though it’s menacing undercurrent was undoubtedly present. Lionel was silhouetted against the doorway, the edge of suit only visible by the light of her desk lamp. Her response stuck in her throat as the reality of his presence hit her. It was one thing to plan his visit, to imagine him finding her, bantering with her, touching her. It was another to actually see him, tall and forbidding, at the threshold of her office. Eventually, she found her voice.  
  
“I don’t think my working hours are any of your business, are they? You’re getting your files.” She was trying to be brave, to snap like she usually did, but her voice sounded irredeemably weak in the quiet room. If Lionel noticed, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he stepped into the Torch, walking with a brand of confidence unattainable to anyone without a billion dollar company and a flourishing criminal career. As he strode towards her his hand trailed along Clark’s desk, one gloved finger brushing against the cluttered research binders.  
  
“On the contrary, everything you do is my business Miss Sullivan.” There was her name again, spoken like an accusation. It made her toes tingle. “Especially the things you do concerning my son.”  
  
She turned back to her computer, pretending not to notice Lionel as he circled the room. She had to fight back a smile. He had responded to her ploy, just as if she’d called him directly. He was closing in on her, rounding the back of her chair. In her seated position he towered over her.  
  
“When I enter into a contract with a person, I expect that person to be honest with me. I expect a certain level of professionalism.” He was directly behind her now, she turned her chair to face him.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Don’t lie to me. You’re not very good at it.” His dismissive expression was infuriating. “Am I supposed to believe your clandestine little meeting was nothing? That it had nothing to with your current, situation?” She could see the triumphant smile hiding behind his studied inscrutability, Lionel Luthor was a man accustomed to being right. And he was right in this instance, just not in the way he thought he was. Her meeting with Lex had had everything to do with the situation between her and Lionel. But Lionel thought she was trying to make Lex fight back against his father for her; that she was appealing to him for protection. Which, as she thought about it, wasn’t such a bad idea.  
  
She stood up, finding her backbone in having the advantage of her secret, though her gesture may have been a bit more impressive if she didn't only reach his chest height. She took a few steps back, bumping into the edge of her desk.  
  
“I haven’t been trying to recruit your son if that’s what you’re thinking. Not Lex,” her breath hitched a little before her next gambit, she hoped he wouldn’t notice, “or Lucas.” She didn’t know why she had thought mentioning Lucas would be a good idea. She regretted it the instant it left her mouth. Lionel stiffened as soon as she mentioned his name, his eyes darting quickly across her face. Chloe knew he was searching her expression for clues, calculating everything her remark could mean for him. She’d wanted to catch him off guard, and clearly she had, but at what price?

"Lucas,” he said the name slowly, “Is no longer my concern.”

“Oh really,” If she backed down now she’d never gain the ground back. “Little Edmund isn’t still try to cosy up to his father?”  
  
Lionel scoffed, a short, sharp sound. “Lear? You couldn’t find a more relevant reference when you were scouring the internet for research?” His voice was cold, and she found herself shrinking as his words bit at her. “Although, for all the times that play has been thrown in my face, I don’t think there’s been a single other time I wasn’t compared to Lear himself.” Chloe could believe it. The mad, sad, paranoid King? He had to admit, it fit. “It makes a somewhat refreshing change. I still, however, fail to imagine what you hoped to achieve by bringing up such a long-resolved issue.”  
  
“Maybe nothing. Maybe,” Where was she going with this? “I’m just reminding you of one dirty Luthor secret I’ve uncovered. There’s always the chance I’ll stumble on another.” What did she just say? Had she just-? She had. She had just _threatened_ Lionel Luthor. Lionel was frighteningly still.  
  
“Threats, Miss Sullivan, won’t work on me. They don’t frighten me, they make me angry.” He put a finger to his lips thoughtfully, the leather kissing his skin. “Are you trying to make me angry Miss Sullivan?” He didn’t sound angry. He sounded calm, but Chloe wasn’t going to be fooled by that. It would be dangerous to presume that she could tell how Lionel was feeling by how he chose to present himself.  
  
She waited, not daring to speak. As the silence stretched between them she noted a change in Lionel’s expression. He lifted his head and sniffed at the air. An incredulous look passed over his face. Her perfume.  
  
Before she left the house she’d dabbed herself with a bottle she’d found in the back of her cupboard which, according to the packaging, was fresh and fruity. She had hoped it would smell sophisticated, but from the look on Lionel’s face, she’d missed the mark. In hindsight she probably could have guessed from the cartoon strawberry waving at her on the label.  
  
“Or perhaps,” he looked her up and down, taking in her appearance completely for the first time, “perhaps anger isn’t what you’re looking for at all.” She shrank under his gaze, only too conscious of the clothes she was wearing.  
  
Like the perfume, they came from somewhere in the little-used section of her closet. It wasn’t particularly special, but it was, however, significantly skimpier than anything she usually wore. A frilly top with barely-there straps and an asymmetrical skirt, the lowest point of which reached just above mid-thigh. She had argued with herself over the clothes, but had pointedly neglected to justify her mascara and dark plum lipstick.  
  
Lionel let out a soft laugh, one hand on his hip, throwing back his overcoat, the other curled in front of his mouth. Chloe began to feel that she had made a horrible mistake.  
  
“What exactly were you planning tonight, Miss Sullivan?”  
  
“Nothing.” Her throat felt like it was closing in but she still managed to choke out “forget it”. She was going to leave. She was going to jump in her car and get the hell of of here. His condescending laugh echoed in her ears. How stupid was she to try and, what, seduce the man extorting her? He was going to hold this over her head forever.  
  
She turned to pick up her bag and leave but an iron grip clutched her elbow like a vice. When she looked back at Lionel, there was no trace of mirth left on his face, the mocking laugh vanished from his lips. He tugged her elbow and spun her back to face him front on.  
  
He was much too close. His aftershave was going to directly to her head. She blinked, trying to clear her thoughts and attempted to retreat. Her desk was pressed tight behind her, there was nowhere to go.  
  
“What were you planning Miss Sullivan?” He asked again, far more seriously. He knew. She couldn’t answer, not now that he knew, and if he knew, why did he have to make her say it? She couldn’t possibly tell him that this, his leather-clad grip on her elbow, pushing her against the desk, his chest inches from her, thrilled her to her core. She couldn’t ever say to him that this scenario was an almost frame-perfect re-enaction of the daydream she’d vanished into in her shower last night. The hot water had hit her head and run down her back and she’d closed her eyes and thought of-. But that was then, that was fantasy, this was real and chilling and happening.  
  
There was a triumphant smirk on Lionel’s face and the laughter was back in his eyes, with no indication of the dispassionate state he’d fallen into. It frightened her the way he could snap between playful and cruel. She’d never met anyone so, detached. She wondered if even he knew what his real emotions felt like, or if he’d buried them so far down he couldn’t get to them anymore.  
  
“Why don’t you tell me what you want?” He was using a tone far more charming than he’d ever spared on her before. He was coaxing her into revealing herself. She began to see how he’d managed to ensnare the, frankly surprising, number of women before her; it seemed that everywhere they turned they found an illegitimate Luthor child. It made her feel a little better to know that she wasn’t alone in her complex and dismaying attraction. She still couldn’t answer him.  
  
Chloe shook her head slightly, hoping he would behave how she wanted without her ever having to say the words out loud. He wasn’t pleased. He pushed forwards, the limited room forcing Chloe to sit heavily on her desk, knocking her pencil holder onto the floor and spilling out all her pens. She tried to pick them up but found herself trapped by Lionel’s arms planted on either side of her. She barely had time to look up at him before he had ducked his head to the base of her neck.  
  
The moment his lips touched her skin, Chloe was transported. He pushed a leg in between hers and she spread them so he could step closer. Her throat tingled where he kissed it and the fuzzy sensation made it all the way up to her brain.  
  
She was trying to keep her cards close to her chest, she was trying not to show him just how much she wanted this; she was failing miserably. Chloe tipped her head back, allowing him greater access to her throat and exposing the stretch of bare skin leading to her breasts. She ground against his leg, her hips moving of their own accord. Her skirt rode up and her panties pressed against his trousers.  
  
He groaned against her neck when he felt the already-damp fabric push into his leg. His hot breath sent vibrations running across her skin and, emboldened, she continued, shivering as he continued to moan into the crook of her shoulder. She almost lost herself in the sensation, moving against him, enjoying the trail of kisses he was leaving down her neck, until she tried to pull him closer and felt his teeth on her shoulder. Her eyes snapped open. He didn’t bite her and it barely even hurt, it was just a nip of the skin but it served to remind Chloe who exactly she was dealing with. She suspected that was the idea.  
  
He didn’t do it again and she found herself, somewhat inexplicably, disappointed. He was moving up her throat now, each kiss leaving a burning sensation. He pulled away for a second and Chloe, ready to engage now, lunged in for the kiss. To her surprise, he stopped her with a finger to the lips and, just as he had when he bared his teeth for her crime of pulling at his jacket, he thwarted her attempt to seize a little control. She wasn’t going to be able to guess when he was about to redirect her attention, and she couldn’t count on him being as distracted by their interactions as she was. That didn’t mean she couldn’t try to do a little distracting of her own.  
  
She looked up, her expression as innocent as she could muster whilst still remaining believable. Slowly she planted a kiss on the black leather in the front of her mouth. Lionel’s eyelids fluttered shut for just a moment, and Chloe silently celebrated the victory. It didn’t last long.  
  
“Tell me what you want.” He said, she could have screamed. Could he say anything else? It seemed as if he was as incapable of deviating from his line of questioning as much as she was incapable of answering him. He took his hand away so she could speak but nothing came out. The one trait that she was known throughout the Smallville community for; her voice, her words, her incessant need to keep talking, had finally failed her. Talking had got her into trouble more times than she could count, and now it looked as if staying silent was about to yield the same result. She looked at him desperately, pleading with her eyes. It wasn’t enough.  
  
Lionel tsked and shook his head. His hand trailed up the back of her shirt and unclasped her bra, he dipped his head to the top of her breasts, exposed by the shirt straps falling down her shoulders. In a moment of what she thought was take-charge daring she took his other hand, which was still resting on the desk, and brought it to her chest. Dutifully, he began peeling down the fabric to allow himself greater access to her body but she thought she could feel him laughing against her.  
  
She couldn’t understand it. He didn’t like when she couldn’t answer him about what she wanted (not this teasing, what she really wanted), but he mocked her when she took the initiative. She could sort of see where he was coming from, in a manipulative kind of way, but what she didn’t understand was why she was still attracted to him. She hated when men laughed at her, and not being taken seriously was the biggest pet peeve out of her seriously long list of pet peeves. So why did this man, who epitomised condescending, imperious arrogance, get the benefit of her desire?  
  
If she was operating on a purely mental level she would want to withdraw her favour, so as not reward his patronising behaviour. It, frankly, made her mad that she wasn’t strong enough to ignore her own desires in order to stop giving him what he wanted.  
  
If she was what he wanted. If this wasn’t all some part, one small fraction, of the manipulation game they’d been playing for years. She tried to reassure herself, remembering that it was she who had instigated tonight, but it would be dangerous for her to discount the possibility that Lionel had considered, and prepared, for this eventuality. She thought that perhaps the answer, in that case, would be to break it off right now. But sticking to her principles was hard when she was so turned on it was beginning to get painful.  
  
She moved her hips towards his leg again, trying to find some release, but with a subtle shift of his posture, Lionel moved his leg away. The movement was so natural, with no interruption to his activity, that it could have been a simple coincidence, but Chloe fancied herself a better judge of his actions than that. It was another in a line of signals that told her she was not going to be the one in control. That was not going to go over well with her uber-managerial tendencies.  
  
Her bra had fallen well below her breasts now. It was tangled in her shirt, the fallen straps crossing over each other like the wires on her playstation, impossible to untangle without a highly concentrated effort. But Lionel wasn’t giving her the chance to sort herself out. One arm was clasped around her back, pressing her closer as his mouth swirled at the tip of her breast. His other hand was working too, running his thumb over her hard nipple. She gasped and he quickly did it again before gently pinching the nipple between his fingers.  
  
Chloe let out an embarrassingly audible squeak at that, but like the nip he’d given her earlier, she wished he’d do it again. This time he fulfilled her unspoken demand and she let herself enjoy the strange sensation of having the slight pain toy at her right breast and Lionel’s warm mouth tease the left. It was unlike anything she’d experienced before, not that she’d experienced much, she conceded self-consciously.  
  
Lionel was enthusiastic in his movements, and she was not complaining. However, it led to an awkward position when he attempted to adjust his stance and swept his hand down the desk, accidentally knocking her computer mouse. Suddenly the room exploded into sound. Chloe hadn’t realised how quiet the air around them had been, only punctuated by the occasional breathy gasp. Lionel jerked away, startled, and shook his head to clear it. The blaring noise reformed into music and, from the look on Lionel’s face, they both recognised the lyrics at the same time.  
  
_“Such a dirty- but I always get it up for the touch of the younger kind- my, my, my, my ,whoo!”_  
  
They could have been interrupted by anyone at that moment: her principal, the police, Clark, and it wouldn’t have been nearly as harrowing an experience as having her fantasy playlist broadcast throughout the entire school and, more importantly, in front of Lionel Luthor. He had a maniacal gleam in his eyes and an incredulous smile as he glanced down the list of songs on her illuminated computer screen. The song changed to a slower one, with overtly sexual lyrics, and Chloe cursed herself for leaving the playlist on there.  
  
She couldn’t believe she’d done it. Earlier that day, when her plan was still in its early and, seemingly unrealistic, stages, she had fantasised that the whole affair would be set to music. Each song corresponded either with the dialogue she’d imagined in her head for them, or a mood change she’d imagined would be effected by their sudden animalistic lust. She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been eight hours ago. Now that this was actually happening, and Lionel was really there, with his icy composure controlling their interactions, rather than pure licentiousness, the orchestra backing did not seem appropriate. In any case, it was not the maturity she wanted to convey to him.  
  
“You did come prepared, didn’t you, Miss Sullivan?” He ran his fingers down her neck and shoulder and suddenly she felt very exposed. The ‘Miss Sullivan’ didn’t work this time, in place of excitement she felt only anxiety. She turned quickly and shut off the music. Lionel promptly withdrew his hand.  
  
With the music silenced, the room seemed much bigger than it was. Chloe was suddenly aware of the entire building around them, and when she looked at Lionel, he too, seemed much bigger, and more an adult than she’d recognised before. In the quiet the only thing she could reliably hear was the thundering beating of her heart. She thought it might be raining outside but it could have just been the white noise sneaking into the back of her mind. They shouldn’t be doing this. The thought was pounding through her head. Now that she’d remembered where she was, in school, her school, she could just imagine the rest of the student body passing through, chatting about regular high school things. What would they think if they knew that she wanted…if they knew what she-.  
  
She shouldn’t have started this, and he definitely shouldn’t have responded to her advances. What sort of grown man pursues a highschooler? But, as she looked at him and a shiver ran down her spine, she knew that that was part of the attraction, and not a small part either. No good man would give in to a high school student’s clumsy attempts at seduction, and Lionel Luthor was no good man.  
  
“Aww,” Lionel pursed his lips patronisingly, and rested his thumb on her lower lip, oblivious to her inner turmoil, “and here I was rather enjoying the musical accompaniment.”  
  
Her uncomfortable feelings disappeared in an instant, to be replaced with burning anger. How dare he, now, when she was trying to reconcile her emotions, laugh at her again? What made him so special that he thought he could walk all over her and laugh at the same time. She tore her head away from his hand, enjoying the look of surprise on his face. That would show him, that would let him know that she wasn't going to roll over and-. What was he doing?  
  
She sat, transfixed, as Lionel undid the small, unobtrusive zip on the side of his glove, before tugging at the end of each finger and slowly peeling the glove from his hand. She glanced up from the glove and saw Lionel looking at her intently. Then she remembered that she was mad. She tried to concentrate on that anger but her eyes found his hands again. Her clitoris was painfully stiff and a throbbing sensation kept pulsing through her pelvis. Lionel was repeating the procedure with his other glove. The unzipping, the tugging of the fingers, the peeling across the hand, it was as captivating as the last time.  
  
When he was finished removing his gloves, he paired them and folded them in half. Then he walked, painfully slowly, towards her. He leant forwards as though he was going to kiss her, before stretching his arm out and placing his gloves neatly on her desk. He didn’t lean back out. Chloe was unable to move, she was so caught up in anticipation. She didn’t want to fall for it, she wanted to do something to break the tension, she wanted to grab him and kiss him, tear his shirt and pull at his hair. But she knew that if she did that, he was going to divert course again, and she was going to miss out on whatever would happen next.  
  
“You’re embarrassed.” It wasn’t a question. Lionel’s hand ran up her bare leg, stopping just as it slipped under her skirt. “You’re embarrassed by what you want.” His hand reached further, brushing ever-so-gently across her skin. “It is an exceedingly common phenomenon.” His fingers toyed with the band of her underwear before his thumb snuck in the side. She realised she was holding her breath as his thumb explored, but she still couldn’t seem to let the breath go. “But I must say, I didn’t expect it from you.” It was a cheap attempt at manipulation, but that sentiment, which so obviously targeted her intellectual vanity, paired with the slow, firm circles Lionel was drawing with his thumb, gave her the same wellspring of pride as that day in his LuthorCorp office.  
  
“I’m sure you think you’re confused.” He leant further forward, and spoke quietly, beside her ear. She could barely think as his thumb continued to trace measured circles over her slick clitoris, gliding easily on the wet muscle. “But I think you’ll find that if you could just,” his lips pressed against the tender flesh between the base of her ear and the top of her jaw, and Chloe’s eyes fluttered closed, “concentrate,” he smiled into her skin, “you’d know exactly what it was that you were after.”  
  
If she could just concentrate? How could she, when she was pressing herself into his fingers, imploring him to work faster, harder, to bring her over the edge here and now? He didn’t. He kept up his maddeningly consistent pace, driving her further into infuriating arousal. The only thing that seemed less-than-perfectly controlled in Lionel was his breath. It was heavier now, and just a little erratic as he spoke again.  
  
“Will you tell me what you’re after, Chloe?” It was the first time he’d said her name all evening, and she nearly whimpered in surprise and frustration, not just at him for teasing her, but at herself for still, despite everything, being unable to say the damn words. “Tell me what you want.” He leant out, his eyes meeting hers.  
  
In a moment of initiative that was more about avoiding the question than it was instigating something new, she took hold of his face and pulled him into a fiery kiss. Maybe this time he was just going to take that as his answer. How much more obvious could she be without actually saying it? She thought surely, surely he wasn’t going to ask for more. She was wrong. And as that iron grip closed on her wrist, she knew she hadn’t really believed it anyway.  
  
Her right hand was pried away from Lionel’s face, and she let the other one fall as well. He slowly retrieved his hand from her panties, and she was sorry to see it go. She watched him slide his hand out from under her skirt and deliberately wipe his thumb on her thigh, leaving behind a shiny wet mark.  
  
She didn’t want to meet his eyes. She knew he’d had another one of his emotional shifts. The softness he’d had when he’d whispered into her ear was gone. Her wrist was still caught in his vice-like grip and the air had seemed to drop a few hundred degrees. She wondered just how many chances she had, and whether she’d already exceeded the number he required to give her what she wanted.  
  
He didn’t have a condescending remark for her this time. Instead, he began to lower himself gradually to his knees. Chloe glanced up, forgetting her reticence to make eye contact, and found him, yet again, watching her with cold intensity. She didn’t quite understand what was happening until he was kneeling fully, his face level with her desk. When she did realise, her legs reflexively tried to close, but in a second his hands were off her wrists and on her thighs.  
  
She needed no more than the gentlest of pushes to spread her legs again, though she had to fight the instinctive embarrassment that came from being exposed. She took a deep breath to calm herself. She’d had sex before, with Jimmy, the first time she’d interned at the Daily Planet. He’d been sweet and kind and inexperienced. Their lovemaking had been pretty straightforward, both of them too nervous to admit to the things they really wanted to do, and neither of them engaging in anything adventurous.  
  
Lionel’s hands slid up her thighs and under her skirt once again. His fingers hooked into her underwear and she lifted her hips to help him as he deftly dragged them down her legs. He flicked the fabric easily over her strappy sandals. Chloe moved to the edge of the desk, as close as she could be to Lionel whilst still supported by the furniture.  
  
She couldn’t understand how he could still be so powerful, so commanding, down on his knees in front of her. It was his clothes, maybe; he could be at the office, or out to dinner, in his three-piece and overcoat and she was bedraggled, without underwear and her shirt tangled below her breasts. As his fingers ran over her hips, lightly tracing spirals over her buttocks and back down her thighs, she knew it wasn’t just the way he was dressed. This man had spent his entire life cultivating his wealth, his power, and terrifying authority, she doubted if there was any position in which he would deign to appear weak.  
  
She questioned, though she feared the answer, if she could become the same. She’d already seen the signs, her controlling tendencies, her secrets. She knew how she appeared to some, as an unpredictable force, bent on revealing their secrets and hiding behind a hundred firewalls. Lionel’s beard tickled the inside of her thighs and she wondered if she was frightened about ending up like him, or hopeful.  
  
She liked when people were nervous about her, about what she might do. She liked holding all the cards. She liked being the mastermind. If she had the resources, what would she do with them? Chloe honestly didn’t know.  
  
Her brooding was interrupted by Lionel lifting her legs capably over his shoulders, and her thoughts nearly evaporated all together when his head disappeared under her skirt and she felt his nose press into her pubic hair.  
  
Oh god. She hadn’t shaved. She had meant to but, if she was telling the truth, she’d never actually expected to get this far. Now she was unprepared. Hadn't all the magazines she hated, but consulted anyway, told her that men liked girls to be clean and hairless? Hadn’t all the online dating blogs, hidden in her browsing history, told her that a full wax or a landing strip was the best way to encourage a guy? Chloe expected Lionel to re-emerge any second, to make some disparaging remark and sweep out of the room in disgust.  
  
He didn’t re-emerge. Quite the opposite, in fact. He shrugged her legs further up his shoulders and Chloe had to brace herself on the desk to stay upright as his tongue enthusiastically explored. One hand travelled up her lower back, pushing her closer, and the other crossed over in front of her hips, holding her in place as she squirmed with pleasure.  
  
Chloe was enthralled. No experience she’d had compared to this. He deviated from his pattern of lapping up and down, to a brisk side to side technique that swept over her clitoris and, she was sure, sent her to another plane of existence. She threw her head back, acting without any input from her brain. She could feel a cry rising in her chest, and her breathing was heavy and quick and ragged.  
  
A sound tore from her that was somewhere in between a moan and scream when Lionel pointed his tongue and swept it in a downward arc before following it back up with his tongue flat. She swore she could feel his smile on her, though it could just as easily have been her drifting imagination. He did it again. Then again. Each time he did the same shock would run through her. She was shivering a little now, and her arms felt like they weren’t even holding her up. Her real centre of stability was Lionel’s arm hooked around her legs. She grabbed onto his arm as an anchor, feeling the strength in the wiry muscle underneath his suit.  
  
Her skirt was riding up her waist now, exposing the top of Lionel’s head. Without thinking, she threaded her other hand through Lionel’s hair. If she had been able to formulate a fully coherent thought in that moment she would have reconsidered the action, remembering how he’d deflected every other one of her attempts to take charge. But, as a particularly firm stroke caught her off guard and she clenched her fist, Lionel only moaned. She couldn’t tell if it was in pain or pleasure, and wondered for a second if she’d hurt him.  
  
When he made no move to remove her hand from his hair she took it as an affirmation and clenched her hand again, grabbing harder and pushing his head into her. His tongue practically doubled in speed. Chloe hadn’t thought it possible but the outcome was indisputable. She could feel tears of exertion spring to the corners of her eyes, she was so close.  
  
“Fuck me!” She yelled at the ceiling. She tried to move her hips in sync with Lionel’s head, but Lionel was gone. She looked down, emitting an undignified whining sound.  
  
“Say it again.” His voice was gravelly. “Tell me what you want.” He said it softly, this time it wasn’t a demand. He said it as if he was sure he was about to get what he wanted. She’d said it once, surely it would be easy to do again. But it was different now, shouting it into the void wasn’t the same as looking into Lionel’s eyes. Tired of waiting, Lionel furrowed his eyebrows and, once again, buried his face in her pussy.  
  
She was quick to shout now, but it wasn’t the words he wanted to hear, more a stream of unintelligible noises. Lionel seemed to have made it a personal challenge to make her scream. He was rapid and relentless, barely taking the time to breathe. Her own breath came in short bursts. It wasn’t long before the words were echoing loudly through her brain, crashing around the inside of her skull and flashing in front of her eyes. She needed Lionel to fuck her. She need him to strip the rest of her clothes off her and bend her over the desk she was riding.  
  
She couldn’t stop herself picturing the scene, with her naked on the tabletop, papers and folder, scattered all around her and Lionel, still impeccably dressed, towering over her, sweat glistening on his brow as they moved together. In her imagination he was still wearing the gloves, and she could feel the leather digging into her skin, and trailing over her mouth, parting her lips. She was coming, and she was yelling.  
  
Back in the present, at the top of her lungs, she was yelling for Lionel to fuck her. She shouted it over and over, until it echoed down the school’s empty corridors and out the front gates. She repeated it as she rode the waves of her orgasm, but Lionel didn’t stop. He continued well after she came and straight into over-sensitivity, and she didn’t stop asking once. It was only when she was past the point of pain and rising back into arousal that her pleas became demands and Lionel pulled away.  
  
She let out a shuddering breath as Lionel leant back on heels and untangled his stiff arm from around her thighs. She wanted him back, but she could wait, this time, and watch him as he collected himself. She could see her cum glistening in his beard as he gave her a lopsided smirk and playfully cocked his head.  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
She wasn’t going to be coy about it this time, she wasn’t going to evade the question and try to distract him. She look him dead in the eyes.  
  
“Lionel,” she felt they were past the ‘Mr Luthors’ by now, “I want you to fuck me.”  
  
He stood up, smiled wide and flexed his hands. He shrugged his overcoat, which had fallen over his shoulder, back into place and straightened his crooked tie. He leant towards her, once again trapping her between his arms. She lifted her head in anticipation, but instead of bringing her into a kiss, Lionel dipped his head further, to her ear. His breath sent shivers down all down her back and for the first time she noticed that his cologne smelt of cloves.  
  
“No.”  
  
He was at the door before she could even process what he’d said. By the time she looked around he was vanishing from view, with only the wetness still in his beard to prove that any of it had happened.  
  
Chloe couldn’t believe it. She sat still, lost in confused thought, until she realised how cold she was. Her disappointment mixed with indignation as she tidied herself up and untangled the straps of her shirt. Of course, both emotions were only compounded by her continued arousal. She found her underwear and began to put it on, having some trouble negotiating it over her sandals. She wondered how Lionel had managed to do it so easily and found herself angry at him for it. In fact, the longer she cleaned up, the angrier she got.  
  
How dare he? she thought as she searched for a cloth or something to wipe up the damp mess left on her desk. He was a selfish, arrogant, manipulative jerk. She had known that from the beginning and had still somehow expected a different ending to the one she had been offered. Her anger redirected at herself for only a second before centring back on Lionel. If he was only going to play with her, she at least should have gotten some advantage from the situation. If he didn’t view her as an equal than he deserved to be duped. She cursed herself that she hadn’t set up a camera and caught the whole thing on film. She would have died to see his face if she showed him that little piece of evidence. But, under more consideration, she decided that Mr Paranoid had probably had the office swept for devices at least three times before he entered.  
  
She was almost out the door when she bumped her hip against Clark’s desk. The memory of Lionel’s gloved finger trailing along it flashed, unbidden, in her mind. It was followed quickly by the image of Lionel Luthor down on his knees, head between her legs. She steadied herself against the wall and, without thinking, her hand crept into her underwear. The arousal that had ebbed whilst she was cleaning rose again immediately. She rubbed hard and fast, the recollection of the way his hair felt between her fingers, and the heat of his mouth between her thighs, propelling her over the edge almost immediately.  
  
Breathing heavily she flicked off the lights in the Torch. So she hadn’t got what she was aiming for. She’d certainly received a lot more than she’d ever realistically expected. As she locked the door she realised that this was all part of his game. His finishing move had been to leave her wanting, and now he was waiting to see what she’d do.  
  
She marched through the darkened school corridors, indignation still firmly in place but a smile building. She wasn't yet sure how she was going to respond. The only thing she was sure about was that their game had just entered a whole new level, and it was never going to be the same again.

***

2:43 AM, that same night. 

  
  
In the nicest bedroom of the Luthor Mansion, Lionel Luthor, pale and wane, sits bolt upright on his bed. The pale lilac sheets cling to the cold sweat of his bare skin. A single thought races through his mind, chilling him to his very core.  
  
_Fuck! What if she had it on camera?  
_


End file.
